


last ace in a lost hand

by Knightblazer



Series: Knight of the Renegades [3]
Category: Persona 5, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMF Greg Lestrade, Crossover, Gen, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 13:45:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11291880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer
Summary: When you're juggling between two identities, they're bound to come clashing eventually.(aka the Persona 5 AU starring Greg Lestrade that nobody asked for.)





	last ace in a lost hand

**Author's Note:**

> I have zero excuses for this purely self-indulgent AU except that I have not written in a long time and am trying to fix that. Kind of written as one whole burst, so its not been beta-read or Brit-picked, and I apologize in advance for mistakes.
> 
> Title comes from the Persona 5 OST _Rivers in the Desert_.
> 
>  
> 
> **26/6/17:** Made some minor edits and modifications to some sentences and stuff that weren't sitting quite right with me.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, what are your thoughts about the Palmer case?”

The microphone is up at his face before Greg even has a chance to try and chase the reporter away. Not that it would solve anything if he had managed to do so; from where he stands in front of the court building there’s a whole swarm of them, all of them desperate to get the first word for whatever bloody tabloid they work for. 

He’s never been fond of tabloids, but these days Greg finds himself loathing them even more than usual. 

He does his best not to scowl too obviously and uses one hand to push the offending microphone away from him. “No comment,” he replies, as curtly as he can manage, then ducks away to try and start making his way down the steps so that he can get to his car. But instead of putting more distance, the reporters only continue to trail after him, and as usual they’ve decided to take his answer as some sort of opening salvo for even more ridiculous questions.

“Is it true that the culprits simply decided to give themselves up after months of evading arrest?”

“What were their reasons for surrendering themselves like that?”

“Can you confirm the rumor that they were actually paid off?”

“Did they really receive a calling card from the Renegades?”

“Are the Renegades responsible for this too?”

The last question causes Greg to stop in his tracks, and he whirls around to glare daggers at the reporter who had asked that. Of all the bloody questions to ask—“These ‘Renegades’ are just a bloody urban myth,” he snaps out even as he knows that he’s going to regret this later. But right now he’s too frustrated to really care about trying to play nice. “There’s nothing that proves their existence.”

“But this is the fifth case where the culprits have turned themselves in,” the same reporter shouts back out in return. “And they received a calling card as well, just like with the other four. Is the Met still denying their existence even after having seen the evidence?”

Greg grits his teeth. “The cards prove nothing. They’re just a trick, nothing more.” 

“Detective Inspector—”

This time Greg doesn’t bother to entertain the reporters with any more responses and quickly makes his way away from them before they can bombard him with any more questions.

* * *

His place isn’t exactly in the best spot in London, but at least it gives him a semblance of privacy. Greg sighs as he closes the front door and then presses his head against the surface. Stupid. Losing his cool about the whole Renegade business was stupid. He should have expected it after all the other times.

A shuffling sound comes from the kitchen. Greg tenses and pulls away from the door, stepping towards the counters closest to the threshold. One hand slides into the inner pocket of his coat, ready to draw out his baton just in case he needs it—

He steps into the kitchen and sees a black and white cat attempting to get out of a Starbucks paper bag.

Greg lets out a quiet sigh and puts his baton away. “Weren’t you supposed to be at Gabriel’s this week?”

“She always forgets to feed me.” Greg could pretty much hear the whine in its—well, his—voice. “Also, her family decided to show up, so I had to leave her house.”

Greg frowns; last he checked, she had assured him that she _did_ tell her family. Guess he was going to have to bring that up later in the chat (or when they met up, whichever happened earlier). “And the Starbucks bag…?”

“Practice.” The bag crinkles as the cat shifts itself, and then his head pops out to look at Greg with unnaturally blue eyes. “Gotta perfect that jump landing, after all!”

“And inform the landlord that I have an unwanted pet in the premise.”

The cat glares back in return. “I am not a pet!” he all but yowls.

“Try to explain that to the landlord.” Because Greg certainly wasn’t, especially when ‘talking cat that only three people can understand because of weird cognitive bullshit’ was not really going to work as an explanation. Half the time Greg could barely believe it himself, even after all these months. Sometimes Greg wonders if he’s actually in some kind of shock-induced coma and this all one extended Matrix-Inception-dream-bullshit. He almost wishes it was.

“Hmph.” The cat jumps out of the now half-ruined Starbucks bag. “Once the Renegades really take off, people will come to appreciate the talents of me, Morgana.”

Greg very highly doubts it, but he knows better than to start an argument about that—his day had been tiring enough as is. He sighs again and starts to head towards his room so that he can change out of his clothes and into something more suitable for home wear.

Morgana doesn’t follow him, thank God, but he’s looking at Greg with an impatient look when he steps back out. “The ruling of the Palmer case was today, right? How was it?”

“Guilty.” Greg steps into the kitchen and heads to the cabinets. “Got the confession and everything.”

Morgana lets out a small laugh of triumph. “Yes! Another one for the Renegades!”

“Reporters were asking about them too.” Greg tries not to remember too much about that, even as he talks about it. “Gabriel’s stunt did its thing then, I suppose.”

“Our popularity’s going to get even higher now after this.” Morgana sounds way too excited about this, but Greg supposes better the cat than him. “We should start looking for a new target soon now that this case is closed.”

Greg opens the cabinets and rummages around for a suitable bowl. “I’ll keep an eye out.” Once the whole thing dies down a little more, he adds to himself mentally. Last thing he wants is to add fuel to the fire so quickly, and the proverbial fire took longer to die down with each target. Part of him can’t help but worry that this whole thing might be starting to go out of control.

Morgana jumps onto the counter just as Greg manages to fish out a bowl, which he places down next to the cat. “Man, the Renegades sure are lucky to have an actual cop. It makes finding our targets that much easier.”

“Ta.” Greg opens another cabinet and quickly retrieves a half-opened box of cat kibble. He undoes the flap and starts pouring the kibble out onto the bowl.

Morgana, predictably, looks none too amused. “I don’t want cat food.” It’s almost astonishing how much of his whining reminds him of Sherlock. 

…and thinking of Sherlock was not something that Greg wants to do now (or ever, really, but he supposes time will tell about that). “I didn’t know you were coming, as you may have noticed.” He pulls the box back upright once the bowl is filled with kibble and puts the box back on the cabinet shelf. “I’ll get something else for you later when dinner rolls around.”

“I demand sushi!”

“Maybe.” If it’ll keep the cat quiet for at least tonight. Because that’s really kind of what he needs right now after the mess earlier today. 

Though, he thinks, at least the Palmers _did_ get what they deserved. That’s one good thing he can dwell on.

* * *

It’s worrying how used he’s getting to all of this now, Greg thinks to himself as he follows after Gabriel and Ian with Morgana at his side as they attempt to navigate what he best guess to be a television studio. That is, if said television studios were built with bizarre architecture and had collapsing trick floors with other traps and monsters constantly prowling along the hallways. It almost makes him misses the day where working with Sherlock Holmes was the weirdest thing in his life. Almost.

Gabriel stops them before they go around a corner, and with a signal all of them move to hide behind a stack of nearby boxes. “Shadow,” she says, voice just loud enough for them to hear. “They feel strong, but we can get the jump on them.”

Ian breathes out loudly through his nose. “Any chance we can sneak past them?” he asks while brushing away his blonde hair from the eyeholes on his mask.

Gabriel shakes her head in response, green ponytail following the action. “It’s a one way corridor, Snake. We’ve got no choice but to force our way through.” She turns her gaze towards Morgana. “What do you think, Shadow?”

“Loki’s right. They’re strong, but we should be able to handle it.” Its strange how much more natural it feels to hear the cat speak when they’re in here, even if Morgana does look like an actual cartoon character. Greg watches him cross his stubby little arms as he continues to speak. “And we’re definitely close to the Treasure. I think we should do it.”

Ian nods, then looks at Greg. “Well, Knight? What do you think?”

They’ve done this a good number of times now, but Greg swears he’s never going to get used to the whole code name thing. “You guys already made up your mind,” he mutters back, shrugging. “Let’s just make it quick.”

Gabriel nods and turns to peek out into the corridor. “On my mark.”

The four of them wait patiently as the shadow edges close enough for them to strike, and once the moment presents itself they strike hard and fast. Ian makes the first strike, lunging forward with his spear to catch the shadow by surprise. The shadow squeals at the strike before it explodes into its true form, and they quickly surround it.

By this time is a well-practiced thing, having done this whole song and dance for five times already. Both he and Ian lead the charge, drawing the shadow’s attention with well-timed strikes from their weapons (god knows how and where Ian got a spear and managed to keep it). Morgana darts in an out, attacking where he can (he’ll never get over the sight of a cartoon-looking cat wielding a bloody _cutlass_ ) and supporting when he can’t while Gabriel provides cover fire with her crossbow. For the most part it tends to work, and this time is no exception.

They keep up their attacks until the shadow looks considerably weaker, and its then they pull out the big guns and finish up the battle.

Gabriel goes first; the fancy green-gold masquerade mask over her face melts into a display of blue flames as she calls out the name of her Persona. _“Artemis!”_

Greg sees the figure of the half-deer, half man, half covered in some sort of forest greenery and most-definitely centaur like figure that seemingly appears from nowhere, cloaked in the same blue flame from earlier. It cocks the bow in its hands, and its four green eyes flare brightly before firing the arrow. The arrow glows and bursts into a shower of energy that strikes the shadow rapidly.

The shadow staggers back from the strikes, groaning in pain, but before it can recover Ian is next. _“Nahash!”_ he growls, a palm already over his quickly disappearing serpentine mask. 

There’s a rattling in the air, the sound not unlike that of a rattlesnake, and just as with Artemis Ian’s persona appears in the space behind him. It’s long, lean form is coiled up, strange reptilian wings protruding from some part of its body as it stares at the shadow. It hisses out loud once then strikes, doing a strange twisting dance that summons forth ice around the shadow’s body, effectively trapping it in place.

Morgana goes next with a shout of _“Zorro!”_ , and the strange disproportionate figure that appears to the call waves its own rapier and summons the force of wind for its attack. Greg remembers when all of this boggled his mind to no end, but now he’s seen it enough times for him to be able to regard it as normal. Or as normal as any of this can be.

The shadow is close to death now. Greg himself steps up, ready for the final strike. He draws his hand up and brushes his fingers along the edge of the eye guard of his mask—well, helmet, really. Can’t really call it a mask when the thing covers his whole head instead of just his face like the helmet it seems to be. It’s pretty much the reason why he got his code name in the first place.

He feels the non-existent heat on his face as his own mask melts into nothing, the surge of self that comes from within him. The other him, as Morgana said once before, and he recalls the words it had spoken when their contract was formed. _I am thou, thou art I._

His breath hitches as he feels his _self_ rising up to the surface, bubbling and boiling, every part of him overflowing—

_“Arthur!”_

The _clip-clop_ of hooves come from behind, and Greg doesn’t need to turn in order to see the towering figure of his own Persona. Set upon a magnificent ghostly steed is a regal figure that lives up to its namesake, battle-ready armor that somehow twists into cloth. A crown sets upon its armored head as red eyes gleam dangerously from the shadows of its own eyepiece. In place of one of its arms is the blade of a sword, cold steel glinting from the light of blue flames, revealing the name engraved upon it— _Excalibur._

It was time to finish this. Sword in hand Greg charges forward, and his Persona follows after, and both of their blades burst into flame as he swings it unerringly towards the shadow. It meets its mark, and the shadow shrieks, crying out its death knell before it bursts into pieces and dissolves into nothing. 

Greg breathes hard, his vision narrowing back to before as his helmet reappears on his face. At the back of his mind he feels his Persona settling back down, content to have been able to enact justice. He keeps his sword back into its sheathe as the other three walk over to him.

“Brilliant as always, Knight.” Ian smiles as he reaches to give Greg a pat on the shoulder. “I always forget how inspiring you can be when you put your mind into it.”

Gabriel lets out her own sound of amusement “Almost makes you forget you’re an old man.”

“Yeah, well.” Greg gives himself five more seconds to catch his breath before he straightens back up. “Somebody needs to keep an eye on you youngsters.” Not that Gabriel and Ian were _that_ young (28 and 33 respectively), but when you get past fifty suddenly anybody under the age of 45 went under the young category. He supposes it’s something of the opposite for them.

Morgana huffs from below them. “Hey, I’m doing the looking out thing too!”

“In your own way, yes,” Ian returns diplomatically, even as a wry smile slowly appears on his face.

Morgana huffs again, clearly not buying it, but moves on ahead to the mission at hand. “Anyway, let’s quickly go and secure the route to the Treasure. We don’t have much time left.”

“Mutual bickering can always come later,” Gabriel adds on.

Greg snorts while Ian sighs, but all of this is par of the course and soon enough they’re on the move once more, making their way to their final destination—the Treasure.

The next day all of London goes abuzz when the news reports about a certain parliament member receiving a calling card from the Renegades in his office.

* * *

If Greg had been told that he’d be involved in what was pretty much outright vigilantism six months ago, he would have laughed his head off and said that the person was daft. This was, after all, real life, not a bloody James Bond movie. Stuff like vigilantes were nothing more than a fanciful idea; there was no way something like that would ever happen.

But yet here he was right now, living a double life he never expected or desired to have. If Greg had something to blame it would have been Sherlock, but there’s no use blaming a dead man. Besides, he had been given a choice. It was his own fault for actually taking it.

But between this and being a bystander, Greg had to make the obvious choice. He couldn’t fail again. Not like what he had did with Sherlock. 

It’s that drive that keeps him going, even as everyone else in the Met continues to avoid him in the aftermath of Sherlock’s jump off Bart’s’ rooftop. Honestly Greg’s surprised he didn’t get the sack, but he supposes the treatment he gets now is enough of a punishment in a sense. Anyway, it’s fortunate that he can stay anyway—as Morgana always says, his position does give him a place to keep an eye out for targets… even if his reputation continues to drop with each successful heist that the Renegades pull off. It’s not like he can go about to arrest himself.

The office is going crazy over the new calling card, and Greg’s already given his orders to the relevant people. Right now he busies himself with flipping through files to occupy his mind and not think about the upcoming mission. Their previous targets had been somewhat relatively smaller in scale—criminals and corrupt businessmen and the like—but this was the first time they were going for somebody official. It was definitely going to be tricky, but they couldn’t not do it. Not after what they had found out.

_(“Judges, cops, other officials… they’re all just part of the set. I’m the one who directs it all!”)_

Greg grits his teeth and tightens his hold on the folder in his hand. That bastard was going to deserve what came to him.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

The voice that spoke his name is what gets Greg out of his thoughts. He blinks and refocuses back to reality, then stares at the figure of Mycroft Holmes who is currently standing at the doorway of his office, telltale umbrella in hand.

Holmes lets the staring continue for a few more moments before he tilts his head and smiles thinly. “Might I have a word with you, Inspector?”

“Er—” Greg knows he’s hardly eloquent, but considering the last time they met was at Sherlock’s funeral and hadn’t so much as heard a peep from him since, he can’t help but be a little frazzled. “—yeah. Sure.” He gestures at the chair in front of his desk.

Holmes gives a small nod of acknowledgement and politely shuts the door before settling down at said chair, umbrella placed at his side. Greg stares for a moment more before he remembers to close the folder in his hand and set it aside as well, trying to ignore the way Holmes’s eyes dart over to look at said folder.

The silence stretches on for a little while more before Greg finally breaks it. “So, what do you—”

“I apologize for suddenly contacting you again after… such a long period of silence.” Holmes pauses, his eyes darting to the collection of folders on his desk. “Though I see you have been busy.”

A shrug. “Crime doesn’t sleep.” Not even when Sherlock is dead, he adds mentally, but knows better than to voice it out. Even thinking about it in the surviving Holmes’s presence feels extremely guilty.

The other man hums in response. “It certainly doesn’t,” he says, “even when vigilantes decide to step in.”

So that’s what Holmes is here for. Greg can already start to feel a headache forming between his temples. In retrospect, he should have figured that the so-called ‘British Government’ was going to be involved when an actual member of parliament was made a target. This was definitely not going to be good, especially considering he happened to be one of said vigilantes.

Fuck.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, suddenly feeling weary. He could already tell that this was going to be a mess if Holmes was going to be involved; now all he could do is to get as much information as possible to prepare the others. He had a distinct feeling that he wasn’t going to get out of this in one piece, but at least he could try and cover for Ian and Gabriel. At least Morgana was safe, because nobody in their right mind was going to suspect a goddamned cat.

Holmes leans forward, fingers laced together as he stares directly at Greg. “I require all your files and investigation on the Renegades.”

Greg frowns at the request. It’s not a surprise, considering circumstances, but… “Don’t you already have your secret service or whatever for that?”

“I loathe to admit it but our intelligence is… lacking when it comes to these Renegades.” Holmes visibly makes a face while he speaks, clearly displeased to even say that. “We had not thought that they might actually try to target a member of parliament, so the priority on them was low.”

And now that they were, the people were scrambling. Greg supposes that gives him some form of advantage. He had been dumped with the case as a clear sign of being put in the backburner, but that meant he was the one who should have the most information on them right now. He had been able to redirect the investigation away from the Renegades for the most part, but if Holmes came into the picture… it was hard to say if his subterfuge was going to work. Probably not. But he might not know anything at all, if they really didn’t do their research. Greg could only take his chances.

He nods. “I’ll gather everything I have and pass them over to you later.”

“Excellent.” Holmes makes a move to stand up and Greg does so as well, watching the other man pick up his umbrella. “I’ll have my people come by at the end of the day to pick the files up.”

Holmes extends his hand out in a clear gesture of a handshake, something that Greg did not expect. It makes him pause for a moment, wondering if this is some trick of sorts, but he can’t exactly refuse and so takes the hand and shakes it. Holmes’s grip is firmer than he had expected.

Once the handshake is done Holmes withdraws his hand. “Good day, Inspector,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Greg sees that smile and feels a slow dread building inside him as he watches the man take his leave. The moment he’s certain that Mycroft Holmes is gone Greg drops back down to his seat and presses his hands onto his face.

Definitely not good at all.

* * *

As much as he hates it, Greg knows that they have to stick to the plan. If they change the date of their mission it’s as good as outing himself, and though Greg could live with that sacrifice Ian and Gabriel were not. Besides, the cognitive world wasn’t really something people could just suddenly find. The odds still had to be in their favor, or so Morgana says.

All of that does little to ease the dread that Greg feels inside of him. But he does his best to put it aside and focus on their mission to take the Treasure, though he makes sure to keep an eye out for anything unusual (or at least, more unusual than everything they’re doing right now).

Everything goes as planned. They infiltrate the Palace, they get to the Treasure and promptly defeat the ruler of said Palace. Then they get their hands on the Treasure, and that’s when all hell breaks loose.

Gabriel is the one who finds out. “Uh, guys… we’ve got company.”

Ian snaps his gaze over to her. “What kind of company?”

“ _Human_ company. And they’re armed too. It’s… this isn’t police stuff.” There’s panic now in her voice, and Greg can’t blame her—the dread in his gut had more or less solidified. He recalls how weirdly obvious everything had been during their information gathering, the fact that they had their ideal target so easily. A trap. This had all been one giant trap.

There was no time to waste.

He turns to the three of them. “I’ll distract them. You guys get out of here with the Treasure.”

“What?” Gabriel gasps just as Morgana begins with “Knight—”. Ian, in the meantime, looks at Greg with narrowed eyes. It sort of the look Sherlock used to have when he was figuring something out.

“You knew this would happen,” he states, voice quiet, and Greg could hear the untold question of _did you betray us?_

Greg quickly shuts down that line of questioning. “I had a hunch.” He hadn’t told them about Mycroft Holmes, but maybe he should have. It’s too late now either way. “If anything goes south I’m going to take the fall anyway, so don’t worry about me. Just hurry up and go!”

Gabriel continues to look conflicted, clearly not wanting to abandon him, but Ian makes the decision for her. “Good luck,” he hears him say, then grabs Gabriel by the wrist as leads her out of the room. Morgana follows behind them, pausing at the doorway to look at Greg one more time.

“Don’t worry, Knight,” the cat says. “We’ll be back for you. I promise you that.”

Greg nods. He knows that they will try, though he doesn’t know how successful they’re going to be. That depends on what will happen from here on out, he supposes.

Morgana looks at Greg for one more moment before he darts off to go after the others. Greg steels himself with a breath, counting down from ten to zero before he starts to move, bursting out of the room and making as much of a din as possible in order to draw attention over to him.

It doesn’t take much before he hears the pounding of boots as the people from MI6 or whatever it is head towards his direction. Greg forces himself to move as much as he can despite the way his body screams at him—fighting the Palace ruler was never easy, and his age was not helping either. All he could hope was that everything he did was going to be enough for the other three to get away. And once they were back to reality...

He keeps up the chase for as long as he can, using what he remembers of the Palace layout to help him. He uses the falling floors, the twisted rooms and the mirrored hallways to misdirect them and keep them occupied, all the while trying to have his body hold out. Eventually, his effort pays off—the telltale rumbling starts, the sign of the Palace’s eventual breakdown, and it’s his cue to get the hell out of here before it collapses entirely.

As his chasers stumble and try to regain their balance from all the rumbling that’s happening Greg starts to make his escape. They start to go after him again and Greg leads them to the path out of this place. They may be after them but he wasn’t going to let them be collateral; they wouldn’t be any better than the people they target if they let that happen.

After a great deal of running Greg finally manages to get to the entrance, and to little surprise he’s greeted with a squad of armed men who shouts for him to surrender at once and drop his weapon. He hesitates, if only so he can glance back for a moment to see the rest of his pursuers arriving as well, making sure that they’re all there. They are, and he swallows down the lump in his throat. So this is it, then.

Greg allows himself a deep breath before he gets onto his knees, hands up in the universal sign of surrender. Immediately the armed men swarm over him, and one of them shoves him down to the ground before handcuffing him. He lets himself appreciate the faint irony of that while it lasts. 

Once the men are certain that he’s secure Greg is led out of the Palace in cuffs. He feels the shift as they step back into reality, the non-existent burn as his mask disappears into the ether and his clothes shift back from its knightly getup, revealing his face to all. Greg takes five more steps after that before he’s made to stop and he finds himself staring at a very familiar pair of shoes.

Suspicions confirmed, Greg looks up to see the cold stare of Mycroft Holmes greeting him back in turn.

“Gregory Lestrade,” he says, voice as cold as the expression on his face. “You are hereby under arrest.”

* * *

The prison is underground, which doesn’t surprise him, and also probably secret on top of it, which is also not surprising. He _is_ surprised at the food he gets, however, and considers for a moment if they’re drugged or poisoned before shaking off that idea. No point doing any of that if Mycroft Holmes is the one who’s going to be doing the interrogation.

He counts down his days in meals, waiting for the inevitable to come. Twenty three meals later, it finally arrives, and Greg finds himself being led to an interrogation room. He settles down onto the chair without a fuss and stares at the window while he waits for his interrogator. After all these years, it’s now weird being on the other side.

The metal door creaks open and then close. Greg only blinks once when Mycroft Holmes steps into the room and settles on the seat opposite of him. He watches Holmes watching him and a minute passes by in silence.

Greg tilts his head and decides to break said silence. “Aren’t you going to start the interrogating?”

Holmes arches an eyebrow in response. “You and I both know that it would be pointless,” he returns, saying it so simply one would have thought he was discussing the daily headlines. “I know you enough to know that you won’t be giving up anything at all. Especially when you were prepared to come here.”

Greg does his best to look surprised, though they both know it’s pretty much for show. “Kind of a waste to just throw my life here after all this time, I think.”

The smile on Holmes’s face is thin. “That’s what other people will say.”

A shrug. “I tend to fall under that.”

“Yes, perhaps. In the past.” Holmes shifts in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. “Now, however…”

Greg doesn’t need for Holmes to finish that sentence. It’s been more than half a year since everything started and he knows he’s changed a lot since then. It’s kind of hard not to when you decide to throw yourself into even more life or death situations than before.

Time to change the subject. “When did you start to suspect me?”

Holmes blinks at the question. “A little more than a month ago,” he answers, then tilts his head. “But I could only confirm it when I visited you in your office.”

Greg thinks back to the visit, and what Holmes did at the end of it. “It was my hands.” So that's why he did the handshake. 

A nod from Holmes. “Far too many calluses, especially at your current station, and we know that all of the Renegades use some sort of weapon.” He pauses for a moment, considering, before he continues. “Though we certainly didn’t think they would just be well-made fakes, though it does answer the question of acquisition.”

“We don’t murder.” At least, not people. Shadows could hardly classify as people or even as a living being in general. 

“Hmm, yes.” Holmes leans forward this time, elbows on the table, hands clasped and he rests his chin against the back of his hands. “You all… what was it? ‘Steal their hearts’, I believe that was the term?”

Despite himself, Greg can’t help but quirk a smile upon hearing that. “I know, it sounds utterly daft.” But it was kind of the best way to describe it, even with how ridiculous and cheesy it appeared to be.

A hum. “But it is all very heroic, isn’t it? You make these people confess their crimes, save the people who had been oppressed under them…” Holmes trails off for a moment as a wry smile crosses his face this time round. “It must be freeing, being able to do something you want without all the tedium of bureaucracy or red tape.”

This time Greg is frowning, not quite sure what to make of those words. “If you want me to do something...” he starts, wary. He had better not be thinking what was happening, because Greg really would rather let himself rot away here than stoop to that level.

“Oh, no, of course not.” Holmes is, for some reason, seemingly amused but yet strangely pleased with his remark. “I understand your concern, but I know better than to make you do something against your morals.”

That, at least, answered one question, but the response was clearly leading him to another. Greg closes his eyes and sighs. “Just spit it out, Mycroft.” As entertaining as the chat could be, he really wasn’t in the mood for mind games. 

“If that is what you wish.” Holmes—well, Mycroft now, he supposes, if they were going to go there—shifts in his seat again and lowers his hands, looking straight at Greg with a level gaze. “I would like to propose… a deal.”

Now that definitely has Greg interested. He straightens up in his seat and returns the look that Mycroft is giving him. “A deal?”

“Yes. A deal.”

* * *

Sherlock frowns as he studies his surroundings and then the building before him. Too many improbable things are coming to him at once, but yet the truth stands right before his eyes. Mycroft had told him what to expect, but it’s still certainly something to take in.

He turns when he hears the footsteps of somebody walking up to him. He sees the figure and narrows his eyes, giving the newcomer a quick study. “Lestrade?”

Greg grins fiercely from behind his mask as the rest of the Renegades come to a stop behind him. “Call me Knight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some vague headcanon/notes:
> 
> This version of the Phantom Thieves are called the Renegades instead because they, well, work outside of the law and also because they vetoed the whole PT name for something more ~edgy~. Its just the four of them because they don't dare to risk a big group. Their layout/stats is as follows:
> 
> \- Gabriel(le) shares support with Morgana (think of her as a Futaba/Haru fusion of sorts except with crossbows). Her persona is Artemis and she's under the Fortune arcana, and her code name is Loki (its her hacker handle).
> 
> \- Ian is pretty much kind of like Makoto in terms of stats, being very well-balanced. His persona is Nahash, which means 'serpent' in Hebrew and is a reference to the serpent of Eden in the bible. His arcana is Hermit. He's kind of about the whole 'forbidden knowledge' thing, hahaha. His code name is Snake, after his serpent mask.
> 
> \- Lestrade's the physical attacker with Yusuke-ish stats. His initial persona is Arthur (from King Arthur, ty Moriarty for this inspiration), and his arcana is the Emperor. In my head his ultimate persona is Odin but I'm still kind of indecisive about it. His code name is Knight because he... pretty much had the whole knight angle going on and the alternative idea was Silver after his hair lmao.
> 
> \- Morgana kind of rotates around staying at each of their houses instead of staying at one particular place since they're all adults and none of their places actually allow pets, so they can't risk him staying for long. He does like Lestrade's house best though because there's nobody else and he can be himself. (And also because Lestrade actually feeds him on time unlike the other two.)
> 
> \- This takes place in the gap post season 2 and before season 3, mostly because it kind of made the most sense in my head.
> 
> \- Mycroft and his people had an inkling about the cognitive world but Lestrade and co. were what confirmed it for them. Gj guys. :')


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